


A Crow and A Griffon

by TourmalineQueen



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Slash, Remix, childhood angst, weather as matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck alone together in a shack the middle of a snowstorm in the Frostback Mountains, Zevran's admission shocks Alistair, and puts him into a reflective mood. Then the Archdemon decides to ruin the mood. Character study and introspection from Alistair's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crow and A Griffon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diabla616](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/gifts).
  * Inspired by [How Zevran got his armour, and other tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/363443) by [diabla616](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/diabla616). 



> For those who may be triggered by it there are non-explicit references to non-consensual sexual situations in this fic.

Alistair could not get comfortable. He was well used to sleeping on the ground in the outdoors, on the grass or occasionally the peat, not to mention in the stables (and right now he missed the hayloft more than anything), but the shack's stone floor was ice-cold and unforgivingly hard, and Alistair tossed and turned often, accidentally elbowing Zevran once or twice.

"Alistair," the assassin snapped, after the third elbow jostled him awake, "the floor is not likely to get any more comfortable tonight."

Alistair glared at him; "that's fine for you to say, you're used to this," he said accusingly.

Zevran's smile was deceptively sunny. "Of course. Although there _was_ usually more sex involved when I shared my bed before." 

Alistair continued to glare unwaveringly, until Zevran added lightly, "a Crow cannot always choose his bedmates, or indeed if he even wishes to share."

Alistair tensed instantly at what the elf _hadn't_ made explicit, and inhaled sharply at the implication.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow in amusement at the scale of Alistair's reaction; "you thought a life in the Crows was all fun and games, _amico_?"

"No, no of course not," Alistair protested, but in his discomfort he scrubbed a hand over his face, putting the lie to his words; "it's just. _Maker_ , Zev, that's tough."

"It is in the past now, no?" Zevran shifted in Alistair's embrace now, seeming uncomfortable not with his own admission, but with the level of Alistair's reaction. It was ironic that Alistair's physical discomfort prompted such a stronger emotional discomfort for them both. It took hours before Zevran finally fell into some semblance of sleep.

The snowstorm raged on outside the dilapidated shack in which they sheltered. Alistair knew that Zevran was awake, and knew also that to draw attention to the fact would lead to more discomfort for both of them. And Alistair definitely did not want to make Zevran feel any worse, or to feel any more guilty himself for struggling with and complaining about circumstances beyond both of their control. So Alistair simply wrapped his arms lightly around the assassin and allowed himself to drift slightly: not far enough to sleep, for he had no wish to allow the Archdemon to offer him some new nightmares, (not after the nightmare-fodder that Zevran had tried to turn into a joke), but far enough that he could _almost_ doze and _almost_ pretend not to notice that he quite liked holding an armful of pliant elf. _Not the time, nor the place, nor even the person_ , he informed his libido. His libido didn't pay him any much heed.

Alistair tried to tell himself that he remained partially alert as a form of guard duty, but the storm outside the walls was a killer one, and ironically it would do a far better job of keeping the two men safe than Alistair - or even a Mabari war dog could. Alistair hoped that Mahariel and the rest had all managed to find safe shelter, too. In all likelihood they had; and in their present situation there was no use worrying helplessly: it would do nobody any good. Tense muscles finally easing, Alistair let his mind wander back to his youth, over all the injustices done to him by circumstances beyond his control. His father, well, there was absolutely no way he could control who his father was, although he had wished, often, that he was anyone's son _but_ Maric's. Zevran never spoke of his father, if he knew who his father was, at least not to Alistair. So they had that in common. _Along with at least a third of the population of Ferelden_ , Alistair thought darkly. It was a tale as old as time that men and women would ... become intimate and there would be baby-shaped consequences, whether the people were married to each other or not. Unless the elf knew who his parents were and simply chose not to discuss them. Maybe they didn't have paternity issues in common at all, and Alistair was just grasping at straws to find common ground between them. He took a deep breath and told his brain to stop arguing with itself.

As the wind howled outside, Alistair let his thoughts turn to Arl Eamon. The Arl and his conflicting decisions had always confused Alistair, but if he was negligent in the upbringing of his ward, at least he had never been openly cruel. Even relegating him to the stables was less about Alistair and more about Eamon's own marriage, and Alistair knew he was just an unfortunate casualty of Isolde's insecurities, and he had even made his peace with that fact. His bringing Alistair to the Chantry, and thence to a life in the Templar order was tough, and Alistair certainly resented not being given a choice in the matter, but at least he had not been sold to the highest bidder, like the Crow who was finally breathing more deeply, now. _Unless Arl Eamon had been offered some manner of payment by the Revered Mother? She certainly wanted to keep me within the Order... But that sounds both paranoid and as if I am competing with Zevran for some sort of worst childhood award,_ Alistair thought wryly. 

At least he had been given the choice of deciding whether or not he wished to become intimate, unlike Zevran - he could not imagine the pain of having that choice taken from him, as well as everything else. Zevran might be a flirt and an assassin, but he had a courage and a strength born of the hardships he had seen, and Alistair respected that. Maybe, if they got better acquainted, learned to trust one another more, maybe then he might ask Zevran what physical intimacy was like... And maybe he'd try to use a euphemism that didn't make him sound like someone's grandmother before then, he thought with a yawn and a grimace. At some point after deciding that he did, in fact, actually respect Zevran, Alistair relaxed and drifted into true sleep.

_Darkspawn. Hundreds of them, surrounding Alistair and Zevran, Hurlocks with their **hurr-hurr-hurr** warcry, gunlocks grinning as they surrounded the Warden and the elf, and above it all, circling overhead, the Archdemon shrieking instructions to the horde. Alistair knew he couldn't understand the communication, but he was sure the dragon screeched the words **rape-pillage-plunder** and sent the demons charging after them. The sounds, the smells were intense, and then, distantly, Zevran was calling to Alistair, and a Hurlock had him pinned, and he couldn't see anything, and there was pressure on his arms, and Zevran was calling him, shouting-_

Alistair sat bolt upright, shrugging the weight from off his shoulders, and throwing an arm out, catching something warm and sending it flying from the bedroll. Alistair panted, gradually catching his breath and trying to recall where he was and what was happening. The storm seemed to have blown itself out, but there was no sign of daylight coming in through any of the cracks in the shutters, door or walls.

"Zev?" Alistair asked, glancing to his left, where Zev had been sleeping.

"Here, Warden," Zevran's voice came from a dark, right-hand corner of the shack, sounding sleepy, irritable and worried all at once. "Are you quite well?"

"What are you doing over there, Zev? I - I'll be fine in a minute. Warden ... stuff. Stupid bloody Archdemon," Alistair replied, muttering darkly about what he'd like to do to the Archdemon, given the opportunity.

"You were thrashing about, and deeply in the throes of some form of night terror. I tried to waken you, and I gather your sleeping self took unkindly to my using your shoulders for leverage," Zevran commented, sauntering back to Alistair and the bedrolls, sounding perfectly at ease, but eyes wary.

"There was a - a darkspawn - pinning me. In the dream. Must have been you. Sorry, Zev. Thank you for trying. They're not usually that bad. The dreams," Alistair said disjointedly, running one hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes with the heel of the other. "Were you calling my name? You were in the dream. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's real and what's come from the Archdemon." Alistair sat hunched, one knee drawn up so he could rest his chin on it, and the other leg tucked under him. He wrapped his arms around the leg he had drawn up.

"I was calling you, up until you tossed me all the way over here. I am unsure if I ought to be impressed. Mahariel sometimes has such dreams. Although he has never wakened so violently. I did not realise that you, too, enjoyed them," Zevran commented, in a tone that Alistair suspected could be questioning or sympathetic, depending on what one wanted to hear. He sat down cross-legged on a blanket beside Alistair and squeezed the taller man's shoulder briefly.

Alistair gave a bark of unamused laughter. "Nobody _enjoys_ the dreams, Zevran. It's just part of being a Grey Warden. I - I thought I had figured out how to block them. I'll have to ask -" he froze mid sentence and cleared his throat. "I'll have to work harder at it," he finished lamely. "Um. Sorry about the, uh, the tossing. I wasn't myself."

"You should learn to relax, my Warden," Zevran suggested. "I can think of many ways for you to do so. Even on a cold, stone floor."

"And I'm sure half of them involve you on top?" Alistair asked, smiling wryly. He shifted his position so his legs were now comfortably stretched out in front of him, and he leaned back on his hands.

"More than half. But I was thinking of perhaps a massage. It can ease tense muscles, and let you unwind. And I promise to make no jokes about how much I would like to have sex with you while I do it. This time," Zevran said with a toothy smile.

Alistair regarded him tiredly. "Thank you for the offer, but... If I go back to sleep I'll only have more nightmares. You should try to relax and sleep, though, Zevran. There's still a few hours until daylight."

Zevran inclined his head and gave Alistair a long assessing look. "I thought I was "Zev" to you, my Warden," he said quietly. "After all, I told you when we met, that I am Zev to my friends, did I not?"

"I - are you sure?" Alistair asked, fiddling with the blankets he was sitting on.

"That I am Zev to my friends? Yes, my Warden, I am quite sure. It has been so since long before I journeyed to Ferelden," Zevran replied in an insouciant tone, focusing on folding a blanket.

"That I may call you Zev - that I am your _friend_ ," Alistair said, rolling his eyes at the elf's deliberate misunderstanding. "Despite my not really liking you when you first joined us."

Zevran shrugged. "You have Mahariel's best interests at heart. I cannot fault you for wondering whether my friendship and indenture were a ploy to fulfil my contract. There are some Crows who would do such a thing. Ones who need not fear for their lives at the rumour of a failure."

"Your life, Zev... I hope it's better in Ferelden," Alistair said quietly.

"Oh, considerably so, my Warden. There are few bedmates in Antiva who could hold a candle to you, for a start," Zevran grinned and rolled himself up in his bedroll, and pressed against Alistair's legs. Alistair gave a small huff of laughter and shook his head at Zevran's irrepressible nature before lying back down and holding Zevran lightly once more.


End file.
